


The Fool's Journey

by meticulousMaker



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Curses, Depression, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gay Male Character, Grief/Mourning, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Transformation, Trauma, lefou and gaston's relationship is complicated and i'm not planning to downplay their issues, only the original animated movie is canon for this story, this fic is abt choosing to be better and that's all i'll say on that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meticulousMaker/pseuds/meticulousMaker
Summary: LeFou isn't stupid. He knows Gaston is dead. It's an inescapable tragedy, one that haunts him every moment he has to live on without his best friend.But when a monstrous creature emerges from the woods, more vicious than the Beast ever was, LeFou can't shake the feeling that a deeper story is unfolding. Belle and Adam may have their happy ending, but maybe the curse isn't over just yet.
Relationships: Adam/Belle (Disney), Gaston/LeFou (Disney)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Fool's Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of what is going to be a long journey! This story idea has been hanging out in the back of my mind for two years, and I've finally decided to put it in words for the world to see. In summary, this is an exploration of LeFou's life following the events of the movie, mainly how he deals with the loss of his closest friend and the realization that Gaston really wasn't a good person. When a new sort of beast is spotted lurking in the forest, however, LeFou starts to suspect that Gaston isn't truly gone. He seeks out the aid of Prince Adam and Princess Belle, the only people he thinks can understand his plight, and works to make amends for everything he's done. You could consider this a LeFou redemption fic: the major focus is on who he is and how he grows. He has a long way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of what is going to be a long journey! This story idea has been hanging out in the back of my mind for two years, and I've finally decided to put it in words for the world to see. In summary, this is an exploration of LeFou's life following the events of the movie, mainly how he deals with the loss of his closest friend and the realization that Gaston really wasn't a good person. When a new sort of beast is spotted lurking in the forest, however, LeFou starts to suspect that Gaston isn't really gone. He seeks out the aid of Prince Adam and Princess Belle, the only people he thinks can understand his plight, and works to make amends for everything he's done. You could consider this a LeFou redemption fic: the major focus is on who he is and how he grows. He has a long way to go.

_Gaston raised his mug with a hearty laugh, carelessly sloshing his drink onto the floor. The tavern was vibrant and warm, the crowd around him cheering for their hero. It was the kind of raucous gathering that had become standard for the townspeople, as Gaston bought drinks and indulged in their praise, and it was something LeFou had been part of many times. Always right at his side, always happy just to be there. With time (and no small amount of beer), the memories of those nights had blurred together like ink bleeding into a page, the words becoming stains and losing all meaning. He couldn’t separate them in his mind, watching every moment play out at once._

_He stood somewhere at the edge of the room, a swell of people between him and Gaston. He could see the man clearly, too bold to be overwritten by the blurry faces around him. He had a look of pride on his face_ — _even from here LeFou could tell he was boasting about something. He downed his drink, and the people cheered, and in all the merriment LeFou had a damning realization._

_Gaston was dead._

_It was something he knew inherently, unmistakably, but he didn’t know why. Obviously it couldn’t be true if the man was standing right there, but… no, his mind refused to let him forget. Why would he be thinking that? Maybe a bad nightmare the night before_ — _he was prone to those. When he tried to remember, he found a thick fog over his thoughts that he couldn’t seem to pierce, and he knew the beer had nothing to do with it. It was much too hard to focus, especially here. Indistinguishable chatter filled his ears, and then laughter rippled through the crowd, and he guessed it was at something Gaston had said. LeFou found himself laughing along without knowing why._

_Gaston had fallen to his death. That fact rose to LeFou’s mind suddenly, just when he’d given up on remembering. Had he seen it happen, or had someone told him? It was still fuzzy. LeFou decided promptly that he didn’t want to think about this, actually, and he found a mug of beer in his hands he hadn’t realized he was holding. He took a drink and felt it blur his thoughts again. Much better._

_It didn’t matter whatever silly thing he’d been led to believe. Maybe somebody had lied to him, and he was gullible enough to trust them. Gaston would be laughing at him for that, if he knew. Maybe he should tell him, just to make him smile. Give him some misfortune to find humor in. The whole tavern would get a kick out of it_ — _Gaston, greatest hunter in the world, taken down by a steep fall? Hilarious. Unthinkable. He might even be offended at the notion, might smack some sense into LeFou. He chuckled at the thought._

_Gaston was as radiant as ever, flexing and boasting. The man gestured to his wall of trophies, and those blonde tavern girls that always fawned over him were swooning at his side. Men of the town were raising their glasses for… something. LeFou raised his own, again not knowing why, playing along as if he’d been paying attention. He downed his beer right alongside them, and expected to feel a sharp clap on his back before remembering he was nowhere near Gaston. Carelessly he tossed the empty mug on the floor, and began to stumble forward through the townspeople, making his way to the man of the hour._

_He wanted to say something to him. Wanted to ask him something. He really couldn’t figure out what, but his brain refused to let the idea go_ — ‘Talk to him.’ _About what? Did it matter? Some insistent feeling nagged at the back of his head, telling him there was something important, something urgent, something he was forgetting. Wouldn’t be the first time. He was distractible and he knew it, but he also knew all he wanted right now was to make his way to Gaston, and he decided he most certainly would not be distracted from that. So, there. He tucked the feeling away and pretended it wasn’t a problem._

_There were more people than there usually were, though, and he was struggling against drunken bodies all stumbling in his way. He was a short guy, much to his dismay, which meant that he really couldn’t see past all the much taller people in his path. He quickly lost sight of Gaston but tried to stick to the direction he’d been going, assuming he could walk in a straight line. Somehow he knew that wasn’t going to work, and he stuck with that plan only long enough to find a table he could clamber onto. The men seated around it weren’t pleased at his intrusion, but it gave him the height he needed to spy past the crowd._

_He surveyed the room, turning in place and making himself dizzy in the process, only to realize he couldn’t see Gaston anymore_ — _not even the wall of trophies or his chair. And why did that make him panic? He was drunk, he was lost, and that wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. The little voice in his brain begging him to remember what he needed to do was getting louder again, now that he couldn’t tune it out with his mission. He frowned, and then without warning he was flat on his back on the table, shoved over by one of the tavern’s residents. The men seated around him laughed and then rolled him onto the floor, under the feet of passing bar patrons. He shot them a dirty look and tried to get back to his feet, unsurprised by the abuse. It definitely wasn’t the first time he’d been shoved to the ground and jeered at._

 _Suddenly there were more people, more bodies pressing against him_ — _somebody had tripped over him, or so he guessed, and then more. He squirmed against the weight of the passed-out drunks that were amassing on top of him, only for some very conscious drunks to join the dogpile specifically to spite him. The same guys from the table called over others to join, and soon people were fighting on the floor and he was buried beneath them. Somebody grabbed his foot and dragged him backwards, deep underneath the mountain, and now everything was dark._

_He saw flashes of the light of the tavern, just briefly, but it was smothered by everyone on top of him. He was being crushed by the weight of them all and now it was hard to breathe, and he tried to yell out but he knew it was going to be drowned in the noise anyway. He screwed his eyes tight and tried to struggle, but he couldn’t move. His body stopped listening, even as he wanted to scream, and he couldn’t breathe._

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. The sounds of the tavern echoed in his ears but he knew he wasn’t there anymore, despite his face still being buried in the floor. He was on his stomach and if he could just lift his head he could _breathe_ but his ears were ringing and all he needed was to _move_ but his body wouldn’t respond. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, and he felt far too awake for someone who should be on the verge of passing out. He felt tears stinging his cold face.

LeFou jolted awake with a heavy gasp, pushing himself up from the bed and rolling safely onto his back. He blinked his blurry eyes and felt the water run down his cheeks. He inhaled deeply and desperately like a man who’d almost drowned, and he felt lightheaded enough to faint, but then he was terrified that if he fell asleep it would all happen again. He forced himself to sit up, wiping the tears off his face halfheartedly, trying to calm his anxious heart. He didn’t feel like he’d been crying, despite the evidence. It was just like the way a person’s eyes water when they yawn — that’s what he told himself. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his breathing was still rapid and panicked, and yet he felt strangely calm.

It took another minute or so for his body to get the message that nothing was wrong, and it took much longer for it to relax even a little. When he could finally understand where he was and what had happened (his bedroom, after another nightmare), the dream was still vivid in his mind. He didn’t always remember those dreams — and he much preferred when he didn’t — but this one would not let itself be forgotten. He collected his thoughts and put the events in order, now that he was out of his confusion and panic. He probably hadn’t been suffocating, he realized with some relief. His nose and mouth had been uncovered, he’d just been at a weird angle. It was something that happened to people, sometimes — their brain wakes up before their body does and it gets freaked out. That’s how he heard it explained once when he thought that it meant he was dying. He’d been told before that it was the work of malevolent spirits that sat on sleeping bodies and fed them bad dreams. That had seemed ridiculous, once.

The world outside his window was grey. He blinked away the dark, the vague shapes of furniture now forming in his room as he adjusted. It was quiet, and he was alone.

* * *

Morning came in dreamless moments and somehow LeFou wasn’t sure if he’d ever gone back to sleep. When sunlight peeked into his room he felt as if he’d simply been waiting in the dark for it to come, yet hours had passed so quickly he must have slept for some of it. He was tired in a way he couldn’t explain, still — his whole body begged to stay in bed. Any other time he would indulge; it wasn’t like he had any real plans to attend to. But he remembered his human responsibilities and groaned, unwilling to face the day. He told himself he wouldn’t spend another day sleeping until sunset, even if the thought was tempting. But his stomach protested, and he knew he had to eat some time, and he didn’t have much food left in the house. With much resistance, LeFou forced himself out of bed.

He dressed as quickly as he could, in clothing just presentable enough to be seen in public in — clothing he could easily tear off once he got home to slip back into his pajamas. He didn’t bother with the mirror, knowing he looked a mess. There wasn’t much he could do to fix that, he figured. He fumbled with the buttons on his vest and grumbled about how tight his pants had gotten and how soon he’d have to visit a tailor and get new clothes and that was ANOTHER thing for him to take care of. By the time his shoes were on he was already disenchanted with the concept of facing the outside world, but here he was, all dressed up, and he wasn’t about to let that effort go to waste.

The world seemed to be glowing with the sunrise, and LeFou groaned, covering his eyes. The beams of light split through trees overhead and cast long shadows behind him. The grass was still wet with dew. He could hear songbirds chirping loud enough to give him a headache.

 _'_ _It’s just to town and back,’_ He told himself. He felt his stomach clawing hungrily at him again. _‘Just for breakfast, then back to bed, you lazy bum.’_

The woods were so lively now, so much more friendly than they had once been. For so long the trees had stood naked, clawing at the sky, and now they had leaves all aglow in the sunlight. He was used to seeing dead things, as if it were winter all year. It hadn’t been bad, it was just the way it was. Walking this trail from his lonely little cabin to the village had once been strangely soothing, nothing but the sound of his own footsteps to accompany him. At night the wind picked up into peculiar howls alongside the wolves like some eerie song, but no matter what he heard then, he knew he was alone. He had found that oddly reassuring. Now, though, everything was so noisy all the time. Creatures scampering through the brush, a stream of snowmelt behind his house; even his own walking seemed louder somehow. Life had returned to the forest, and for some reason, it made him nervous.

He remembered seeing the spell lifting from the woods. He hadn't known at the time just what was happening, but the world had transformed around him. He had already seen magic within the castle, but that was his first time truly experiencing it — beams streaking through the sky like starlight. It was like standing in a thunderstorm, watching lightning strike the ground, awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. Maybe that's why he was so uncomfortable, now, with a forest that was alive. It reminded him of that day.

When the village came into view he felt some small relief settle over him, despite his reservations about leaving the house in the first place. The town was still asleep except for those shops that opened at the earliest hours — most importantly, the bakery. It was still early enough that he wouldn’t have to face many people. He didn’t have it in him to lie politely about how he was feeling and what he’d been up to. It was nice to walk through the village without the regular pedestrian traffic; on particularly busy days he could get lost in the crowd, shuffled around by people who didn’t see him. The thought of it forced his dream back into his mind, the feeling of being shoved to the floor with people piling on top of him, and he immediately felt grateful he’d arrived before the town awoke.

“LeFou! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Came the voice of the baker, shaking him from his thoughts, and LeFou realized he had almost passed the bakery in his introspection. “How’ve you been?”

The baker wiped the flour off his hands and onto his apron, leaning onto the counter to talk to him. He was a large man, and LeFou couldn’t help but feel overshadowed as he had to stand on his tiptoes to actually look past the counter. He knew he was a short guy, he just didn’t like being reminded in such a humiliating way.

“Hey… you!” LeFou waved awkwardly, abruptly realizing he didn’t know the baker’s name. How many times had he talked to him? If he’d been told it before he’d already forgotten — he usually did a better job of pretending to remember things.

The baker rolled his eyes, but he still had a smile behind his ginger beard. Apparently he didn’t notice the slip-up, or he just didn’t care. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you out and about this early in the morning. You got somewhere to be?”

“Oh, uh, not really. Just a couple errands to run, you know how it is.” He did his best to shrug like it was something uninteresting, rocking in place on his feet. “I, uh, was wondering if you had any bread…?”

The baker gave him an unamused look, raising one eyebrow.

“...Leftover, I mean.”

“You want the stale stuff?” The larger man asked skeptically. “That usually goes to the pigs, buuut... I think I might have something left. Let me take a look.”

LeFou did his best not to look too excited as the baker vanished somewhere inside the building, and when he returned shortly after, it was with two baguettes wrapped in brown paper.

“They’re hard as a rock, but you do what you need to with them.” When LeFou reached into his pockets to fumble for change, the baker held out a hand to stop him. “They were going to the trash anyway. You can have ‘em, free of charge.”

“You mean it?” LeFou blinked in surprise. He took the baguettes from the counter tentatively, like the baker might change his mind, and when he didn’t he smiled broadly and saluted comically. “Gee, thanks!”

“Anytime, kid.” The baker laughed. LeFou cringed at the remark — the older man probably didn’t mean anything by it, and he pretended not to be bothered as he waved goodbye and kept walking through the town.

It _had_ been a while since he’d seen the baker, he realized. At least a couple weeks, maybe a month. The last time he remembered seeing him was in an angry mob. Funny how quickly they all moved on from that, like it never even happened. Their little town was already back to status quo. It must’ve been nice for them to act like nothing had changed.

Now he made his way down the street with an actual destination in mind, and as he walked he carefully unwrapped the bread to try and take a bite, stuffing the other loaf under his arm. The baker hadn’t been exaggerating, unfortunately, which he had to find out the hard way when his teeth didn’t even dent the crust. He stopped in his tracks long enough to try and snap it over his knee like a thick branch. It took a few more embarrassing attempts before he realized someone was watching him — a young woman with a tray of bread making her way past him with a quizzical look — and he sheepishly put both of them back under his arm and kept walking.

As far as LeFou was concerned, he’d already accomplished his one goal today — that being to get food so he didn’t starve — and he felt the desire to run back home and crawl into bed growing stronger as he walked.

 _Gaston would never let me sleep in all day,_ he thought with some amusement. Too many times he’d shown up at his door and thrown a bag into LeFou’s hands, letting him know they were going hunting. LeFou had even been woken up by gunfire before to find Gaston shooting birds over his house. Not that he made a habit of keeping Gaston waiting — more often than not he’d meet him in town already prepared for the day ahead. Then they’d close the night with beer and laughter, and they’d do it all over again tomorrow. Something ached inside him when he remembered that.

LeFou stopped in his tracks, realizing he’d only been walking further into town. He knew exactly why, but would never admit to himself that he was on his way to a tavern that was no longer open.

He breathed deeply and then turned, taking a path home that would not pass the baker again.

* * *

_The rain soaking through his clothes, the torch flickering in his hands, the roar of a ferocious mob — it was all so real, like he was still there. Gaston wanted Belle more than anything else, and LeFou wanted Gaston to have everything he wanted, and that’s how they wound up storming a castle with the men of the town. It all happened so suddenly, and he’d ridden along for the whole thing. That crazy old inventor was going to be locked in an asylum unless Belle agreed to marry Gaston: that had been the plan. Thinking about it now, LeFou felt… differently about that. He wasn’t sure how, just, not the same as he had. But then they all learned, in the wildest of ways, that Maurice had been right. Real magic right in Belle’s hands, a mirror that showed whatever you asked to see, and the Beast, monstrous and ugly and more than just a madman’s ravings. A Beast that had abducted Belle and kept her prisoner in his castle for months, if they were to start believing Maurice now. Of course there was only one thing to do._

_The castle had seemed so empty at first — cold stone walls and the echo of the storm outside. Then he grabbed a candlestick, and the furniture came to life, and the whole ordeal after that was indecipherable in his memory. He remembered most of all being chased out of the castle, everyone in their mob fleeing. He remembered catching his breath just outside the gate and realizing he was alone, everyone else having scattered to the woods and back home. He shivered in the cold, and only after getting his bearings did he wonder about Gaston. “The Beast is mine!” He had shouted, bow at the ready. There was no way he’d abandon a kill._

_LeFou felt frozen, split between running away and waiting for Gaston. He knew he couldn’t do much on his own, and he certainly wasn’t about to face the castle again alone._

_Not for the first time, he felt kind of useless._

_He heard two sounds — a ghastly roar of some inhuman creature and then a disturbingly human scream. He had looked through the bars of the iron gate to see a distant silhouette, difficult to find in the rain, falling, falling, falling. And he thought he didn’t know what it was, but he did. Maybe he hadn’t known the first time it had happened, but he knew now. A falling body from a distant rooftop and a scream that was much louder than it should have been because he could hear it over the thunder._

_...No, this isn’t how it happened._

_He hadn’t seen him fall, he didn’t think. He was seeing it now but this wasn’t the truth. He… He couldn’t quite remember what he’d done, what had happened, but it wasn’t this. He never saw Gaston die, he was sure of it, but he’d imagined it more times than he ever wanted to. LeFou stared straight ahead, unmoving, trying just to think, to remember. This already happened, but not this way, right?_

_And then the forest began to change, streaks of light striking the castle and making everything brighter, and even as the rain vanished he could see Gaston falling, falling, falling. He wondered if he would ever land, and maybe if he didn’t, he wouldn’t die. Maybe this time he’d live, and he could tell LeFou firsthand how he almost conquered the Beast. He wanted to run inside and… do something, he didn’t know what. Catch him? Tell someone he needed help? But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Nobody else was going to try and save Gaston after everything that happened. LeFou would have to be enough._

_There was a hand on his shoulder._

* * *

LeFou startled awake with drool on his chin and incoherent mumbles on his lips, already trying to make excuses for whoever had woken him. When he couldn’t hear the disapproving voice of someone chastising his laziness, he looked around, bleary-eyed, and saw he was alone. His mouth was dry and his back was very sore, and it was several seconds before he understood where he was: sitting in a little wooden chair in his own kitchen, slobbering over the sleeves of his jacket. He was still fully dressed, and there were baguettes wrapped in paper on the table, and now he remembered how he’d gotten here. He’d gone to the village in the morning for something to eat, and then he’d made his way back home, and then… He’d fallen asleep at the table, apparently. Somehow he was unsurprised by that.

He grimaced as he wiped his mouth, dealing with the discomfort in his muscles as he forced himself out of the chair. He hadn’t planned to make a habit of napping curled over the table, but this wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep there. That couldn’t be good for his — well, everything. LeFou stretched his arms over his head and behind his back, wincing at the sounds that came from his joints. That had been comical at one time; now it was just concerning.

Now that he was standing he could see the knife stabbed into his table, and he remembered the effort he’d gone to to make that baguette edible. It would’ve been entertaining to watch him struggling with the knife, he imagined. He’d eventually succeeded at the cost of his tabletop — there was about half of the loaf left. LeFou reached up to his face and found crumbs there, pressed into his cheek from where it had been resting on his arm. Maybe he’d make the effort to wash up before he went to bed.

The dream resonated in his mind as he made his way to the front door. This one didn't stand out so clearly to him now that he was awake, but the feelings lingered. The confusion and panic remained a foggy presence, distant and distorted but still very much there. He could feel it in his heartbeat, still racing even after the nightmare had ended. He knew it had been about that day, and there had been something he noticed about Gaston, and… that was all he could recall.

It was a relief when he opened the door to find it was still daylight. He'd snoozed past sunset more times than he cared to admit, especially recently; it seemed like seeing the sun was becoming a luxury. It was definitely late afternoon from the shadows on the ground, but he wasn't going to let that ruin his "woke up before sundown" good mood. Some bitter part of him was giving sarcastic congratulations for that — _'Good for you, getting up before nightfall!'_ — and he chose to pretend it was genuine. It really didn’t matter when he woke up — he didn’t have anyone to impress, anymore.

LeFou took the wooden bucket sitting on the ground and made his way around the house. Fetching water from the pump just before the day reached its end was a familiar routine. When he would help at the tavern he’d often carry water in for brewing, usually because the bar maids were too busy doting on Gaston to do their jobs. Then again, doting on Gaston might as well have been their jobs — whether they were serving him beer or caressing his muscles, he always appeared just as pleased with their performance. Gaston had never been much of a flirt, even with his good looks and ego — he was content to let his superiority speak for itself. He’d grown accustomed to having others bask in his glory while he talked up his latest accomplishments. It wasn’t his charisma that had won over the town (not that LeFou would have ever described him as charismatic), but his strength and skill. His boastfulness might have been grating if he didn’t have the proof to back his claims — as far as the townsfolk were concerned, he had every right to brag.

That had probably been the reason he was so offended when Belle turned him down, LeFou speculated. Now that he’d made his way to the pump, he broke from his thoughts only long enough to position the bucket beneath the faucet and push his sleeves up before filling it. Gaston had always been lacking in certain social graces, but he had at the very least been polite when it was important. Much of his inconsiderate attitude could be excused with a quick display of basic manners, as he already had a positive reputation and few would be inclined to think poorly of him. Belle, however, had only recently moved to their little town from somewhere else; she wouldn’t know or care about what reputation he had. She didn’t see an eligible bachelor with the hunting prowess to put food on the table, just a bloated ego coasting on entitlement. And maybe that was a harsh assessment, but LeFou could understand where it came from.

Water sloshed over the edges of the bucket and onto his shoes as LeFou tottered back toward the house. He wasn’t known to be particularly graceful, and it occurred to him now that many of his past trips from the water pump to the tavern had been intercepted by his own clumsiness — and then he realized, why bother bringing it inside? Did he really have the energy to wash up before bed anyway? He groaned and, with all the elegance he was known for, haphazardly dropped the bucket at his feet. It splashed back up onto his pants, as expected, and he glared down at it disdainfully. What was he even doing out here? All he wanted was to be asleep.

A quiet moment of irritation passed, and he took a deep breath, focusing himself. Right, he was going to get ready for bed. It didn’t need to be a big event. LeFou bent over and cupped his hands in the water, carrying enough to his lips to have a quick drink, then splashed what was left in the bucket at his face — and all over his shirt, not that he cared. By now he was pretty damp due to his own carelessness, and he didn’t really think it mattered because he would change clothes once he got inside, but then he saw his reflection in the surface of the water and paused entirely in his thoughts.

His hair and clothes were dripping like he’d been caught outside in the rain, and now he was vividly reminded of his dream, of that night, of the long walk home through the icy storm. He saw now exactly what he’d been trying not to see this morning: his own pale face and sunken eyes. The disappointment that seemed etched into his expression.

He looked so tired.

LeFou solved the problem with the first impulse that came to him. With a hasty gulp of air he fully shoved his head into the bucket, letting himself be drenched. The world was so much quieter underwater, and so much colder too, and he only stayed there as long as was comfortable. He only needed a moment. The chill shook him from his own thoughts, from the look in his own eyes. He emerged and knocked the bucket aside without malice, letting the remaining water sink into the earth. Now it was dark enough that he could justify going to bed, and he was ready to do exactly that.

Like a sleepwalker, LeFou stumbled home.

* * *

_Was he hunting, or being hunted?_

_LeFou lurched through the brush with his rifle at the ready. He was breathing fast, as if he were afraid. And he was lost, too_ — _the forest had changed when the curse was lifted, and he no longer recognized it. It had been dangerous before, but now it was unknown. Every twitch of the trees was something alive. Why was this familiar? He had seen this before, some part of him believed. He wasn’t sure if that was actually true, but even if it was, what had he learned?_

_It wasn’t like him to hunt alone._

_This time, when there was movement just at the edge of his vision, he whirled toward it with his gun held high. He wasn’t ready to kill, but he knew how. He would if he had to. But even before he understood what he was seeing, before he truly looked at it, he knew he wouldn’t fire. He could, he had the trigger just under his finger, but he wouldn’t. Was it cowardice?_

_The figure that emerged from the woods was human. LeFou, for reasons he didn’t understand, was not relieved by this. He remained tense and trained on the movement, knowing this person’s behavior was unpredictable. Then, when it stood to its full height, LeFou felt a chill deep inside him._

_It was Gaston, exactly as he’d looked the day he died. He had his bow out just as he had when rushing into the castle, and he twisted his head around in a desperate search for something. His hair was loose, untied, hanging wildly about him, and the look in his eyes was something LeFou had never seen before. It was a wild determination. When he met LeFou’s gaze he could see the fury in the man’s expression. It was almost enough to distract him from Gaston raising his bow._

_The two stared each other down, far enough to aim but far too close to shoot. LeFou held his breath — didn’t Gaston know it was him? But there was something beastly about this Gaston, like the only thing he knew was bloodlust. He stared LeFou down like he was prey. He held the bowstring taught and ready. He bared his teeth.  
_

_LeFou took his finger off the trigger._

_He moved, slow and cautious, and set the rifle on the ground._

_He looked back up to Gaston, hands exposed, arms open, eyes pleading._

_And Gaston let the arrow fly._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first chapter! This is my first time posting on AO3 and I'm very excited for what's to come. I wanted to note quickly here that this fic is going to get into some heavier topics, so please do heed the tags. Themes of trauma, grief, anxiety, and depression are going to be prevalent throughout the entire story. For more specific triggers (like child abuse), I will provide TW's on the chapter itself and I hope to offer a way to skip past those scenes for anyone who might not be up to reading them. Please let me know if you have any thoughts about tags I should add! And thank you very much to anyone who chooses to leave kudos and/or a comment on this, it means a lot.


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